As I gaze upon my arm and smile,
evaluate the mistakes I've made,
I'm aware that this is not my style,
Yet I'd rather face death than lose this blade.
A tiny scratch, and nothing more.
That's good enough for me, I say.
Another blood drop on the floor.
Just one more time, it'll be okay.
Another day, another mask.
A different smile, but it's all the same.
All you have to do is ask,
But nobody wants to know my shame.
Everybody's eyes tell me I'm fine,
Not knowing that I wish to be dead.
A twisted fate without a sign.
I pray their ignorance doesn't spread.
YOU ARE READING
Behind closed doors
PoetrySimply the thought of release made me think of the first two lines of the first poem, and then it kinda went on from there. Actions are powerful, but words are just as powerful if not stronger. Every day is worse than the last. I have very little f...
